Gwrando'r Iesu'n galw'n dirion

Gwrando'r Iesu'n galw'n dirion,
  Geilw'r boreu
      a'r prydnawn;
Addfed yw y maesydd gwynion,
  Pwy a geir i gasglu'r grawn?
Pwy a â? mae'n galw'n eglur,
  Clyw, mae'n galw arnat ti;
Ateb iddo - O fy Arglwydd,
  Wele fi, O anfon fi.

Os na elli groesi'r cefnfor
  At baganiaid gwledydd draw
Gelli ddweyd am Iesu
    a'i drysor
  Wrth drueiniaid sydd ger llaw:
Os na elli roi dy filoedd,
  Dyro'n rydd, a'th ffydd yn gref;
Pwy a gyfrif werth un hatling
  Os o gariad ato ef?

Os na feddi ar hyawdledd,
  Dawn, a nerth angylion Duw,
Gelli ddweyd am Iesu'n marw
  Dros bechadur gwael ei ryw:
Os na elli ddeffro'r caled
  Heddyw i ffoi rhag uffern drist,
Gelli arwain y rhai bychain
  Yn dy law at Iesu Grist.

Os na elli fod yn gwylio
  Uchel dyrau Sion wen,
Yn cyfeirio byd colledig
  At y Gwr fu ar y pren;
Trwy dy ddagrau a'th weddïau,
  Ti wnei waith y nef yn wiw,
Gelli di, fel Hur ac Aaron
  Gynal breichiau prophwyd Duw.

Os na elli di gyfranu
  Dysg i rai mewn oed a maint,
"Portha'm hŵyn" yw gair y Bygail
  Dysgu'r plant
      sydd nefol fraint:
Plant arweiniaist at yr Iesu,
  Gyda mwyn, grynedig law,
Ti a'u cei yn mhlith dy dlysau
  Yn dy gartre'r ochr draw.

Byth na'th glywer di'n cyhoeddi -
  "Nid oes yma waith i mi;"
O'r eneidiau sydd yn marw
  O dy amgylch! clyw eu cri!
Ymegnïa i lafurio -
  Gwaith y nef fo'th bleser di;
Brysia i ateb pan mae'n galw,
  "Wele fi, O anfon fi."

Listen to Jesus calling tenderly,
  He calls in the morning
      and the afternoon;
Ripe are the white fields,
  Who is there to gather the grain?
Who will go? he is calling clearly,
  Hear, he is calling on thee;
Answer him - O my Lord,
  Here I am, O send me.

If thou canst not cross the ocean
  To distant pagan lands
Thou canst tell about Jesus
    and his treasure
  To wretches who are at hand:
If thou canst not give thy thousands,
  Give freely, with thy faith strong;
Who shall count the worth of a mite
  If from love towards him?

If thou hast neither eloquence,
  Gift, nor the strength of God's angels,
Thou canst tell about Jesus dying
  For a sinner of a poor kind:
If thou canst not awaken the hardened
  Today to flee from sad hell,
Thou canst lead the little ones
  By thy hand to Jesus Christ.

If thou canst not be watching
  The high towers of bright Zion,
Directing a lost world
  To the Man who died on the tree;
Through thy tears and thy prayers,
  Thou wilt do the work of heaven worthily,
Thou canst, like Hur and Aaron
  Support the arms of the prophet of God.

If thou canst not share
  The teaching of those in age and size,
"Feed my lambs" is the word of the Shepherd
  To teach the children
      is a heavenly privilege:
Children thou didst lead to Jesus,
  With a gentle, trembling hand,
Thou shalt have them amongst thy jewels
  In thy home on yonder side.

Never shalt thou be heard announcing -
  "There is no work here for me;"
From the souls who are dying
  Around thee! hear their cry!
Be energised to labour -
  The work of heaven be thy pleasure;
Hurry to answer when he is calling,
  "Here I am, O send me."

Hark! the voice of Jesus crying
  "Who will go and
      work today?
Fields are white and harvests waiting;
  Who will bear the sheaves away?"
Loud and long the Master calls us,
  Rich reward He offers free;
Who will answer, gladly saying,
  "Here am I, send me, send me"?

If you cannot cross the ocean,
  And the heathen lands explore,
You may find the
    heathen nearer,
  You may help them at your door;
If you cannot give your thousands,
  You can give the widow's mite;
And the least you do for Jesus
  Will be precious in His sight.

If you cannot sing like angels,
  If you cannot preach like Paul,
You can tell the love of Jesus,
  You can say, "He died for all";
If you cannot rouse the wicked
  With the judgment's dread alarms,
You can lead the little children,
  To the Saviour's waiting arms.

If you cannot be the watchman
  Standing high on Zion's wall,
Pointing out the path to heaven,
  Off'ring life and peace to all,
With your pray'rs and with your bounties
  You can do what heav'n demands;
You can be like faithful Aaron
  Holding up the prophet's hands.

If you cannot, in the harvest,
  Gather up the richest sheaves,
Many a grain both ripe and golden
  Oft the careless
      reaper leaves;
Go and glean among the briars
  Growing rank against the wall,
For it may be that their shadow
  Hides the heaviest wheat of all.

Let none hear you idly saying,
  "There is nothing I can do,"
While the souls of men are dying,
  And the Master calls for you:
Take the task He gives you gladly,
  Let His work your pleasure be;
Answer quickly when He calleth,
  "Here I am, send me, send me."